


Backline

by Barrhorn



Series: Meme Reposts [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 17:15:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7396405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barrhorn/pseuds/Barrhorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angela figures that, by anyone’s measure, she is too old to have a schoolgirl crush. But Fareeha somehow makes her feel like she’s sixteen again, all awkward shyness and stammered words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backline

Angela Ziegler is an intelligent woman. She’s been called brilliant, revolutionary, and a genius. Her discoveries are used throughout the world. She has multiple awards and countless publications. 

Absolutely none of this helps when Fareeha Amari walks into the room.

Angela doesn’t even have to see her. Fareeha walks through the door and the whole room seems to hold its breath. She wonders if the others sense it too: how calmness and assurance seem to sweep out in Fareeha’s wake. Her bearing is always straight and proud, her eyes always kind. That would be enough. But since the world is an unfair, cruel place, Fareeha is also stunningly gorgeous. The woman could stop traffic with one perfectly arched eyebrow, and yet seems utterly ignorant of that fact.

Angela figures that, by anyone’s measure, she is too old to have a schoolgirl crush. But Fareeha somehow makes her feel like she’s sixteen again, all awkward shyness and stammered words.

They’d had a celebration one night after a particularly hard-fought victory, and everyone was milling about the room, drinking and talking. Angela had been chatting with Zarya and McCree when she noticed Fareeha out of the corner of her eye. She was leaning against the wall, wearing a short sleeved shirt that displayed her tattoos. Reinhardt was standing next to her, absorbed in their conversation. And Fareeha’s face was more open and relaxed than usual, a smile rising easily to her lips as Reinhardt laughed.

What could they be talking about that brought that light to her face, Angela wondered, trying to strain her hearing to catch even a few words. And then Fareeha looked over and caught Angela’s gaze.

She turned around quickly, feeling the burn of a blush across her cheeks as well as Fareeha’s eyes staring at her. Embarrassed, she downed the rest of her drink, drawing her companions’ attention.  
“I love to see ya having a good time, doc,” McCree said with a rare note of concern in his drawl. “But maybe slow it down a bit? You’re going all red.”  
“Yes, you’re right,” she managed. She didn’t dare turn around to see if Fareeha was still watching.

\- - -

The next time they’re alone they’re holed up in Dorado, waiting to see if they’ll be called in for a mission. Lucio and Tracer have gone out somewhere - to “scout the area” Tracer said, but likely to just enjoy the day and kill some time. Angela couldn’t blame them; it was highly unlikely that they would actually be needed, but Winston had deemed it prudent to have some agents on hand just in case.

When Angela emerged from the room she’d occupied for the past several hours, writing yet another article, she found Fareeha sitting on the couch, a book in one hand and a cup of tea on the table in front of her. It was a cozy looking scene, only marred by Fareeha wearing the flight suit she wore under her armor. Angela supposed it made sense: out of the four of them, Fareeha would require the longest time to prepare for battle. The team’s response time would be determined by hers.

At least she didn’t feel compelled to wear the whole suit.

“Mind if I join you?” She spoke quietly, unsure if Fareeha had noticed her enter the room.  
But Fareeha lowered her book with no hint of surprise, tucking a finger in between the pages to mark her spot. “Not at all. I have a feeling we’re waiting for nothing.”  
Angela sank onto the other end of the couch with a small sigh. “Is it alright if I say I’m relieved?” She was keenly aware of the space between them; she could easily reach over and rest a hand on Fareeha’s leg. Times like this she wished she was more impulsive, that she would just go ahead and take the leap rather than sitting motionlessly and imagining what the muscles of Fareeha’s thigh would feel like…

“I as well,” Fareeha said, and Angela struggled to remember what Fareeha was actually responding to. She could not let her attention wander like that! “I may not mind the fighting, but I’m glad not to put the people here through all of that.”

God, but she was kind. If called upon, she would be the biggest target of their little strike team, but she had voiced no complaints, made no demands about her own safety. She was thinking about keeping the people safe not just from harm, but also from fear. How could anyone not admire that?

She realized with a start that the silence had gone a bit too long and felt embarrassment start creeping up her neck. Didn’t she just scold herself for letting her mind wander? Grasping for something, anything, she gestured to the book. “Is that any good?”

Fareeha glanced at the book like she’d forgotten it was there, then shrugged a shoulder with careless grace. “No, but it’s all we had.” She nodded toward a bookcase in the corner, dusty shelves mostly abandoned save for a few scattered paperbacks, two of which seemed to be Spanish dictionaries.

With a sigh, Angela remembered what it was like in the days of the original Overwatch. Before they had to go into hiding. Before they had to carry so much hope with such little support. “One day I want to restock all of our watchpoints and safe houses,” she said quietly. “New paint, new linens. Maybe even some non-chipped plates. It’d be nice to have them feeling more like a home.”

“I think that’s a great idea.” Angela turned to find Fareeha leaning toward her, eyes intent on her face. “Please, let me help if you ever decide to do it.”

_Kiss her. Just kiss her, damn it. Tell her you want her and then make out on this old couch until Lena and Lucio get back in some hideous reversal of parents walking in on the teenagers-_

“Yes, of course,” she almost squeaked instead, and all of her hormones wailed their despair. Fareeha, not seeming to notice her distress, leaned back, her long fingers playing with the pages of the book.

_Those fingers running through her hair, cupped around her cheek. Fingers running down her side to her waist, nails digging in,_

Angela stood up abruptly, and this time Fareeha did startle, looking up at her with wide eyes that Angela just couldn’t meet. It was suddenly way too hot and way too close. “I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to distract you this long. I just remembered something I have to add, if you’ll excuse me.” Her words were just a little too fast, almost jumbled, and when she glanced at Fareeha she thought she saw - was that disappointment? But she couldn’t stay to confirm or apologize, and retreated back into the room she’d claimed as her own.

She shut the door behind her and then collapsed against it, hiding her face in her hands and calling herself an idiot in every language she knew.

\- - -

It turned out to be a little bit easier when Fareeha was actually shirtless in front of her, if only because Angela was concentrating on the wounds she was treating rather than the feeling of skin under her hands. Not that she was unaware of their proximity or the scar under her ribs or the rise and fall of her hands with each of Fareeha’s breaths, but it was easier to push aside any and all unchaste feelings and keep her professional face on.

The golden light between her hands faded away, leaving mottled bruises where the bullets had entered her side. “There,” she said as she straightened. “The rest of it will heal on its own, but take it easy for the next couple of days. No running, no lifting weights.”

Fareeha huffed, something that might’ve been a laugh if her chest didn’t still ache. “I will try to become a couch potato for you, Doctor Ziegler. Thank you.”

Angela smiled, glad that a pair of freshly healed bullet wounds and cracked ribs hadn’t dampened Fareeha’s mood. “It’s nothing.” She was turning away to write on her chart when Fareeha’s hand caught her wrist in a surprisingly strong grasp.  
“It’s not nothing,” she insisted. “That staff may seem like magic to most of us, but like anything that successful, it requires effort. Your effort.”

“Ah-“ Angela didn’t know how to respond, caught as much by Fareeha’s dark eyes as her grip. It was so easy for this woman to take her breath away, make her keenly aware of her warm hand around her wrist, of the muscles exposed by her lack of shirt, of the fact that the med bay was intoxicatingly, dangerously empty except for them.

And then Fareeha drew her hand back like she’d been burned, turning her face away from Angela. “Just wanted you to know that I appreciate it,” she said, staring up at the blank ceiling.

“You’re welcome,” she answered, a bit shakily, and then fled.

\- - -

Strewn about her work desk were the schematics of one of Jack’s healing canisters. They were covered in pencil markings - arrows, sketches, writing - and a textbook next to them held more messy script. Angela had turned to the hardcopies when her eyes started aching from staring at the screen for too long. If only she could find a way to make them more compact, more portable! More agents could carry them, deploy them more often. It would make a huge difference. Battles could be won with this.

People had stopped by several times throughout the day, poking their heads into the door and then leaving when she studiously ignored them. She was chasing something real here, she knew it, but it remained frustratingly out of her reach.

Her chair, and her in it, was forcibly pulled backwards, away from the desk, and with a wordless cry she swiveled to face the intruder-

Only to find herself inches from Fareeha’s disapproving frown and concerned eyes. Angela froze, her heart beating wildly in her chest. _Mein Gott. I would launch a thousand ships for this woman._ Struggling for something more coherent to say, she held on to her indignation simply for a way to respond. “I was working on something!” she protested weakly.

“And according to everyone I talked to,” Fareeha said, entirely too patiently, “you’ve been working on that something for eight hours straight with no breaks. Rest. Eat something.” Before Angela could object, Fareeha picked up something wrapped in wax paper and thrust it into Angela’s hands. “Here.”

She took it automatically, not understanding until the smell of spices hit her. Which was all it took for her to realize that she was starving, and she glanced down to find a piece of bread, filled with what looked to be meat and beans and vegetables. She gallantly resisted the urge to take a huge bite, glancing up at Fareeha instead. “I… thank you.”

“You’re important to us, Angela,” Fareeha said, a slight hitch in her words like she changed what she was going to say mid-sentence. Angela was too distracted by the food and Fareeha’s use of her name rather than her title to wonder too much at it. “Please take care of yourself.”

Their eyes met and again Angela found silence between them. But this one felt different, comfortable. In Fareeha’s brown eyes, framed by her tattoo, Angela could sense that infinite assurance that Fareeha always carried. She could say whatever she wanted to, and the words would slip from her like stones through her fingers into a lake. And no matter the splash, no matter the ripples, the lake would remain, unperturbed. There was a pressure building in her chest, a need to say something simply because she _could_ say something, and she wasn’t sure what it was, but-

But her stomach growled in just that moment, and Angela whipped her head away, blushing fiercely. Fareeha pulled back with a chuckle, and the moment was gone.

“Eat,” Fareeha urged her again. “It’s better when it’s hot.”  
Still flushed, Angela took a bite and hummed as the flavor spread across her tongue. Fareeha smiled, leaning her hip into a table and watching benevolently. Angela wondered if she was just making sure she actually ate the whole thing. She took another bite and sagged in her chair as she chewed. “This is so good.”

Another small smile from Fareeha. “Remember, we’re on my home turf now. I know all the best places to eat around here.”  
“If they’re as good as this, please show me all of them,” Angela said, looking up only when Fareeha didn’t respond right away.  
The soldier hadn’t moved, but she was watching Angela with her head tipped to the side. Slowly, one corner of her mouth quirked up. “It’d be my pleasure,” she said. And, apparently satisfied that Angela wasn’t going to ditch the meal as soon as she was out of sight, Fareeha nodded and left the room, a slight swagger to her walk. Which couldn’t quite distract Angela from her sudden, rising panic.

_Oh my God, what did I just agree to?_

\- - -

“Angela, Schatzi! Are you in the middle of something?” Even if she had been, Reinhardt’s booming voice would’ve destroyed all traces of concentration. She pushed herself away from the desk and turned to him with a smile.  
“What can I do for you?”

“Me? Nothing, I’m as fit as ever! But,” he took a few steps inside the door, his voice lowering. “Fareeha, I think, is unwell, and too stubborn to see the doctor.”  
“That wouldn’t surprise me,” Angela sighed. “Do you know what it is?”  
He laughed then, as if at some private joke. “No, but that is why we have you here! If the patient will not go to the doctor, the doctor must go to the patient, ja?”  
Angela bit her lower lip, thinking. “I don’t know if that’s wise. I don’t want to do anything that would make her more reluctant to seek help.”  
“Nonsense,” Reinhardt said immediately, his voice returning to its usual volume. “It is _wonderful_ idea!”  
“Alright,” she said, standing up. She wasn’t convinced, but once Reinhardt had his mind set on something it was usually impossible to make him budge. She knew from past experience that he would keep hounding her until she went. “I’ll go check up on her.”  
“Excellent.” He ushered her out the door with a smile and a wink, then turned and headed the opposite direction down the hall.

It was enough of a relief to know that he wouldn’t insist on accompanying her that Angela made it all the way to Fareeha’s door without ever stopping to question the wisdom of this idea. And once she stood in front of it, it seemed a little silly to just retreat without at least checking to see if it was something serious. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and knocked briskly.

It was only a moment before Fareeha opened the door, her eyes going wide when she saw her visitor. “Angela? What are you-“ She visibly shook herself. “Can I help you?”  
Angela was seized by nerves. It didn’t look like Fareeha was injured and at first glance there didn’t seem to be anything wrong. “I’m sorry to bother you. But Reinhardt said-“  
“Reinhardt,” Fareeha muttered, though the name sounded more like a curse coming from her. She rubbed at her temple-

_Headache._ Angela quickly categorized-

and stole a glance down the empty hallway. Then she looked back at Angela, sighed, and opened the door wider. “Why don’t you come in?”

Angela stepped inside, taking a quick scan of the room as Fareeha closed the door behind her. They never stayed in one place for quite long enough to make each room a home, and this watch point was no exception. Hana must’ve had this room during some stay: there were two small posters for Korean movies pinned to the wall opposite the bed. Or maybe Fareeha had very different cinema tastes than what Angela guessed.

She looked back to her “patient” as Fareeha crossed her arms, looking everywhere but at Angela.

“Reinhardt said you weren’t feeling well?”  
Her lips turned up in response, but there was no humor in her smile. “I guess.”  
Now she was getting worried. “Fareeha, please talk to me. I can’t help you if I don’t know.”

She started to speak, then stopped herself. Unfolding her arms, she took a few steps forward, just pacing the room. “You’d think this would be easier,” she said finally.  
“Someone once told me that it takes effort to make something successful.”  
Fareeha breathed a laugh, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. “That’s not quite what I said.”  
“It’s close enough,” Angela smiled, pleased that she’d soothed Fareeha even a little.

“Just promise me something,” the soldier said.  
“Anything within reason.”  
“Don’t slap me.”

Angela wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “What-?”  
And then Fareeha covered the ground between them in one step, fingers curling around Angela’s chin and tilting her face up, muffling her gasp with her lips.  
For all that the kiss was featherlight and tentative, it still made Angela’s mind come to a jerky, stumbling halt as heat rolled through her chest. Without thought, without fear, her hands went to Fareeha’s hips, using them to steady herself as she pushed herself upwards to deepen the kiss.

Fareeha pulled away, just enough to chuckle into the space between them, nipping at Angela’s bottom lip as she gently pushed Angela back one step, two, the back of her legs hitting the bed as she wrapped her hands in Fareeha’s shirt and brought her back down for another, longer kiss.

They finally separated, both panting, both unwilling to fully let go of the other. “Thank you,” Fareeha finally said, breaking the silence.  
“For what?”  
“Not slapping me.”

Angela looked up into that self-satisfied smile and rolled her eyes, even though she was smiling too. “I still could, you know.”  
“It’d be worth it anyway,” Fareeha said, taking Angela’s hand in hers and kissing the palm, then trailed kisses along her fingers. “I’ve wanted to do that for months.”  
“ _Months?_ ” Her voice came out squeaky, though from the revelation or the ticklish feeling of Fareeha’s lips Angela wasn’t sure.  
“Months,” Fareeha confirmed, before sitting on the bed and scooting backward so that her back was against the wall. She patted the spot next to her in invitation. “For instance, remember Dorado?”  
Angela did, all too well. “I don’t want to think about Dorado,” she insisted, climbing onto the bed but settling herself on Fareeha’s lap rather than next to her. “Please?”

Fareeha’s arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer. “Even though this was all I could think about doing?” she asked, pressing her lips to Angela’s neck. The woman sighed in pleasure and tipped her head back to give Fareeha more room as her mouth roamed. “And then you ran off and I didn’t know what to think.” She nuzzled the spot where Angela’s neck met her shoulder, then bit, drawing a gasp of surprise.

“I didn’t want Lena and Lucio finding us,” Angela murmured.  
Fareeha laughed, her eyes bright. “So you _were_ interested.”  
Angela leaned forward with a smile, pressed a kiss to Fareeha’s cheek, and then pinched her ear. “I don’t want to think about Dorado,” she repeated, carefully emphasizing each word.

And then she stopped, so suddenly that Fareeha lost her smile, one hand cautiously rubbing a soothing circle on the small of her back. “You know, Reinhardt’s going to be insufferable about this.”  
Fareeha groaned softly, letting her head fall forward to press against Angela’s shoulder. “Maybe we could avoid him? Ask Winston to station us on the other side of the world?”  
“Probably not far enough,” Angela said, running her fingers through Fareeha’s hair soothingly. “Don’t worry,” she added as Fareeha straightened, cupping her face in her hands and kissing her. “It’ll be worth it.”

And then she let herself get lost in her smile.


End file.
